


such a fool (to pay this price)

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When, she wonders suddenly, did she start thinking of sex with Ward as a given?</p>
            </blockquote>





	such a fool (to pay this price)

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Halsey's "Coming Down," which I listened to approximately five billion times while writing this.

It’s a great deal like the berserker staff, is Jemma’s first thought as she is escorted into the near-empty gym and lays eyes on its only occupant: a Grant Ward who is furiously attacking one of the punching bags. Her second is not so much a thought as it is a deep, bone-crushing fear. Ward was a skilled enough double-agent to hide his true self even while under the influence of such a device. He held himself back, managing to keep his reactions limited to sharp comments meant to wound more than to kill and hours spent much as he is now. If this truly _is_ like the berserker staff - and its Asgardian origin along with Ward’s current actions certainly imply as much - then she would be wise to remember he has no reason to hold back this time. She thought he was dangerous then, and that is nothing to what he is now.

The guard who escorted her here - Markham, Jemma thinks his name is - gives her a slight nudge. When she looks over her shoulder at him, his expression seems to remind her that she asked for this. And while, admittedly, she _did_ demand to speak to Ward in person rather than through an intermediary, it was only because she was _very_ confused and _very_ certain it would never actually happen.

She picks her way around the equipment (and it really must be said that HYDRA’s employee gym standards have improved since Ward took over leadership). The staccato beat of his punches is the only sound in the wide room save for the beat of her heart. As she draws nearer, she can hear his labored breaths added to the mix.

His assistant (and she still has some trouble believing Ward even has such a thing) is standing to one side. “Sir,” she begins, only to be cut off.

“I know she’s here,” Ward says, never pausing. “I’m a damn specialist; I don’t have to see someone to know they’re coming up behind me. You can go.”

The assistant - Evie, she said her name was when they met earlier - seems inclined to protest, but in the end only gives Jemma a faint smile before joining Markham at the door. It seems to take her far less time than it did Jemma to cross the same distance, leaving Jemma practically alone with Ward. Rather than plotting her inevitable escape or figuring out what to say, she finds herself staring fixedly at his back. The interplay of his muscles is, frankly, fascinating - she’s always had a passion for human anatomy - but her focus is much more pinpoint than that.

“If you’re gonna say no,” Ward says, “that’s probably not a good idea.”

There is absolutely no way he could actually know where her gaze is directed, but all the same, she steps around to one side of him. “When did you get that scar?” she asks. “The one under your left shoulder blade. You didn’t have it in the Vault.”

He grins, his eyes never leaving the bag. “Is that really what you wanted to ask me?”

Her spine stiffens at the mocking tone. Of course that isn’t what she wanted to ask him - and it doesn’t matter besides because she doesn’t care where he got the scar. She hopes it was someone he trusted stabbing him in the back.

“Why me?” she asks. Evie did a fine job laying out the facts for her, but she never quite made it to that part of the equation. “And why this?” she adds as an afterthought. “Why not ask me to find a cure instead?”

She was working on one back at the Playground, and will likely have better results with an actual test subject instead of the one sample of the poison Sif was able to steal from Lorelei. The fear had been that Lorelei would release it to the general population but, it seems, she’s more inclined to use it sparingly on those she feels have wronged her, starting with the last man she forced into her bed.

“I’m pretty sure you _are_ the cure,” Ward says. His eyes flick towards her, somehow managing to land on nearly every inch of her body in the half a second before he’s focused again on the bag. 

She suppresses a shudder at his frank perusal. She wishes they hadn't taken her bulky tactical gear when they kidnapped her. “Or Evie,” she says, forcing a casual tone. In fact, _anyone_ would be a suitable cure to Ward’s meaning. The poison creates a biological need to have sex, but does not at all demand it has to be someone the subject has betrayed multiple times. “From the looks of it, she's a very … _dedicated_ assistant. She and that Markham fellow seem determined to keep your condition quiet. Perhaps he’d be willing.”

Ward laughs. “I touch either of them, I lose Markham.” He shoots her a wide grin. “He’s head over heels for Evie. Woulda saved me a helluva lot of trouble if he’d been the one exposed.” He delivers a vicious jab-jab to the bag and catches it with the palm of one hand when it swings back. “Listen, you do this, I’ll let you go.”

“And if I decide I don’t want to trade sex for freedom?” she asks archly.

“I honestly don’t know,” he says.

“Oh, come on. You expect me to believe you don’t have disturbing little notebooks full of plans for all of us?”

He scoffs. “I keep my revenge plans on a flash drive like a normal twenty-first century megalomaniac. And it doesn’t matter what my plans are because if I don’t make it through this your options are very, very bad. You’ll be lucky if I die and Markham’s last act of loyalty on his way out is shooting you between the eyes, because if whoever I choose in your place decides to take advantage of the situation by killing me and taking my place? They’re definitely not gonna let one of SHIELD’s top scientists - and former _mole_ \- get off easy. Frankly, I think your best bet is to get off with me.”

The crude phrasing has her rolling her eyes. “That’s a reason why _I_ should want to have sex with _you_ , but why are you choosing me over one of your other hypothetical options? I tried to _kill you_ a year ago!”

His mouth curves slowly into a grin. “That _is_ why,” he says. “You hate me, so I don’t have to worry about you getting attached.”

She cannot even face such hubris. She looks away, eyes on the bright wall of windows, turned a glowing white by the noonday sun reflecting off the street below. It’s a mistake. He follows her, coming close enough that she can feel his heat bleeding through the fabric of her t-shirt.

“And you understand,” he says, voice pitched dangerously low, “better than anyone, what it’s like to be influenced by some alien _thing_.”

Yes, she does understand that. She feels cold at the reminder. It’s been months since she was freed of the Kree weapon’s control, but she can still feel the gouges it tore in her mind and soul. Sometimes she wonders if they will ever be healed or if she’ll simply have to learn to live with them, to pretend that Skye’s hugs don’t make her want to recoil or that she can stand to look at Coulson.

“And-” Ward’s fingers twist in a lock of her hair- “with you, I won’t be able to forget. That you’re not Kara.” The last word comes out hollow as she turns to face him. Either he is very, very good - which he most certainly is - or she caught him in a moment of weakness. Both options are frightening in very different ways.

Assuming he’s telling the truth - and assuming that he truly cared for Agent 33 - it’s reasonable. 33 could wear her face, but would never have actually been able to pass as her, unlike May or even Skye. And even if he’s lying, trying to make her feel sorry for him, he does bring up an important point. Just as she is nothing like Agent 33 physically, _Ward_ is nothing like _Fitz_. She won’t for a moment be able to forget whose hands are touching her, whose body is wrapped up in hers. And maybe, if Ward proves to be a satisfying lover, she’ll be reminded that there are other fish in the sea and won’t feel quite so bereft the next time she refuses Fitz’s attempts at reconciliation.

When, she wonders suddenly, did she start thinking of sex with Ward as a given?

His fingers are still in her hair and, impulsively, she leans her head into his touch. His pupils expand, but it’s the only sign he gives of increased arousal - if such a thing is even possible; according to her estimations, he must be in terrible pain by this point. His hand moves almost languidly to cup her head, as though he has all the time in the world and isn’t dying of some alien poison.

“You have to say it,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “I’m guilty of a lot of sins, but not this one. You gotta say it.” She thinks he might be pleading with her.

“You’ll let me go?” she asks, because though she’s lost her mind, she still has enough sense to focus on the long term goal.

“Yes,” he says, fingers tightening slightly in his impatience.

“Then yes,” she says. “I’ll have sex with you.”

The last word ends on an embarrassingly high pitch as Ward presses a bruising kiss to her throat. She probably should have expected him not to waste any time once she consented, and any hopes she might have had of holding him back are dashed when he tears her shirt from the point of her collar down to the hem. He lifts her sports bra with one hooked thumb, freeing her breasts so he can suckle one.

Heat pools low in her belly and the burn of his unshaven chin against the sensitive skin under her breast has her curling around him, clutching his shoulders to keep from falling. He takes the opportunity to hitch her legs up over his hips and blindly carry her through the maze of exercise equipment to the door. She has no idea how he manages it, but it is not nearly as impressive as the things his tongue and teeth are doing, so she’s not paying it much attention.

Though HYDRA seemed a bustling workplace when she was marched through in chains earlier, it’s a wasteland now. Jemma doesn’t see another soul between the gym and the bank of elevators. A car is already open and waiting for them. The moment the doors are closed behind them, he pins her to them and punches a code into a keypad hidden inside the emergency call box. She should probably pay attention to it, but then he’ll likely change it as soon as this is over and her bra is becoming uncomfortable under her arms.

Her shirt is still hanging off her shoulders, so she has to get _it_ off - difficult with it pinned behind her, and Ward shows her exactly how he feels about her trying to push him away for a little breathing room.

(If the first few minutes are any indication, she will be _covered_ in bites and bruises by the time she returns to SHIELD. Won’t that be fun to explain.)

She finally gets the bra off over her head just as the doors are opening. She has a terrible moment of disorientation before Ward’s hands are sliding up her now bare back, holding her in place against him. She doesn’t know _how_ , but the simple slide of his fingers over her spine is as heady as having his face buried between her breasts - and, as he’s doing both at once, she can’t quite help a whimper. He grins. She can’t see it, but she can certainly feel it.

She hates him, she reminds herself. Hates his smiles and his murdering hands and his collection of vintage guns- oh. They’re passing through his rooms. Or what she imagines are his because they’re definitely _someone’s_. There are far too many personal touches to be anything but a private room. She barely notices any of them though before they’re passing through a doorway and the next thing she knows, she’s landing on a mattress so hard she bounces.

“Pants off,” he growls.

“Are you always so bossy?” she asks, her fingers going to her buttons despite the question.

His sweats are already around his knees. “Hey. I’ve been hard so long I should be in a PSA about performance enhancing drugs. _Pants. Off._ ”

She obediently shucks them and her knickers, only for them to get caught around her ankles as he straightens. She knew, intellectually, that she agreed to sleep with Ward and all that entailed, and it’s not as though he’s the first man she’s ever seen unclothed. This isn’t even the first time she’s seen _him_ naked (there was only one shower on the Bus, it is not her fault), but seeing him so obviously aroused …

He hisses in a pained breath. “Don’t. Don’t you dare-” He cuts off, and she knows precisely why. Her right hand has moved - of its own accord, surely - to the crux of her legs. Just a brief brush of her fingers, a little pressure to take the edge off her mounting desire - and it’s cut short as Ward practically leaps atop her, forcing her down and back, deeper into the bed.

The crumpled mess of her jeans and knickers fall away as she hurries back, but she doesn’t think of them. He’s already slipping a finger between her folds, then another. She gasps, overwhelmed by the hurried foreplay, and then his fingers are gone. He was checking to make sure she was ready, she realizes, but the thought evaporates the next moment as he slides into her.

She thinks he might apologize, but there’s a roar in her ears and she’s trying very hard to breathe steadily. There are tears in the corners of her eyes and her nails have to be leaving bloody trails along his shoulders. She thinks he might have already come, but none of the pressure lets up. Damn alien poisons. She’ll kill Lorelei with her bare hands for this, see if she doesn’t.

Kisses along her collarbone distract her somewhat from the pain, and he lets her settle a moment before he moves. It gets easier as he goes, until the pain is only a dim memory that makes the pleasure that much sweeter.

She doesn’t know how long it goes on, only that when she’s laying half-beneath him, finally able to think about anything but him again, there’s no light coming through the curtains.

“I think you infected me,” she says. She blames the lack of accusation in her tone on how raw her throat is. After the initial wave, he seemed to come back to himself somewhat and enjoyed forcing her to amend her _Ward_ s to _Grant_ s. She’s afraid she may have ended up screaming his name more than once.

What she blames her continued attempts to write the laws of physics over every inch of him on, she doesn’t know, but surely there must be a sound reason.

He hums, the vibration stirring her core in a way that should, by all rights, be painful at this point, but is only pleasurable. She could go another round.

“That’s the only explanation,” she says. “Sif said the poison - she called it a _potion_ , if you can believe such things-” (Jemma does not think about why Ward presses a kiss to her stomach at that)- “was derived from an alien animal. Perhaps it passes the- the fever to its mate so that they won’t be injured in the marathon mating.”

Ward rubs his face against her stomach as he turns to rest his other ear against it for a change, adding one more burn to the many he’s left on her in the last hours. He stares at her, silently considering. She wonders if he’s thinking about what he’ll do with her now. She is still very much in his power and he has no reason to release her save his promise.

“Maybe,” he agrees finally.

She gives up trying to write out universal laws and lets her hand slide over the small of his back. Her fingers brush the scar she found there earlier.

She means to ask again where he got it from, but what comes out instead is, “What were you going to do to me? In your revenge plans?”

He shifts, his arms slipping more deeply around her waist and his body coming to lie more parallel atop hers. He sits his chin over her bottom ribs, looking at her through the valley of her breasts.

“Nothing,” he says.

She kicks gently, just barely brushing the side of his knee. He squeezes her with a smile.

“Nothing,” he says again. “On my list, you’re at the bottom.”

“I _tried to kill you_ ,” she reminds him.

He tips his head to the side and drags himself higher up her body. “Yeah, but you’re the only one who never got anywhere.”

“What! I-”

“May beat the shit out of me at Cybertek. Coulson gave me to my brother. Skye shot me. Even Fitz tried to suffocate me. You … you let yourself get distracted.” He shrugs and uses the motion to bring his hands out from under her and brace them on either side of her. “You’re not a dedicated threat.”

She is so furious, she cannot form words for a good ten seconds. “I was _attacked_!”

“Mm-hmm,” he says against her temple.

“Bakshi tried to kill me!”

“I saw,” he says on his way to nipping at her ear.

She lifts her hands between them to push him off, but ends up wrapping them around him instead. “I was all ready to kill you,” she says rather lamely.

“I know.” He pushes up with one hand. The other has slipped down to massage her clit with its heel and tease her folds with its fingertips. “But you didn’t.”

The _audacity_ of him. She is going to give him such a piece of her mind. Just - after this next time.


End file.
